Someone is after mah man! **UPDATED**

I did not take it personally when you said I was slightly overweight. I admit, I was impressed that you could weigh me so accurately.

I did not get mad when you stopped mid push up to announce that I had taken a break. I mean I had, after all, rolled over on my side to die.

I was a good sport, I think. I didn’t cuss you out for inflating my Mii (the cartoon replica of me) to scale or call the personal trainer names or blame you for the nagging inner ear issue I developed immediately after finishing your yoga exercises.

No. Not at all.

I respected and even appreciated what you were trying to do for me.

And then

You met

My husband.

And you?

Are clearly a home wrecking tramp.

32? 32?!?! Really?!? You calculated his fitness age at 32- and mine at 65?!?

Sixty fucking five???

Yeah. Right. He’s 30 years more fit than me. You dirty, dirty whore.

I should have bought a playstation.

UPDATE:

This morning you said I was 24. Really, Wii Fit? Really? You expect me to believe that I lost 40 years in my sleep? Correction – 40 years and 1.5 lbs?

This is obviously part of your plan to distract me from your devious nature.

I’m on to you.

(I will, however, only be using you in the morning from now on. I mean. You know. Just in case.)